


promises and laughter

by polkadot



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil and David arrive home after the Grammys. Neil has certain things on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	promises and laughter

It’s late when they finally get home, late or early. 

David’s a little tipsy, giggling to himself at a joke only he hears, as Neil unlocks the front door and lets them into their quiet house. Here there are no celebrities with fake smiles, no superstars pinned to within an inch of their lives, no camera flashes and microphones shoved in his face – just quiet, and a pair of David’s shoes near the sofa that he’s forgotten to put away, and a stray stuffed giraffe nearby that Neil thinks Gideon calls Wumba. 

“Shh,” he says, taking David’s arm to pull him inside, shutting the door against the night. “Don’t wake the kids.”

David falls against him, still laughing, tipping his head back against Neil’s shoulder to smile up into his face. His happiness is infectious, and it’s not a hardship to catch his joy, to push incipient sleepiness down again for a few more minutes. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re gorgeous, Mr. Harris?” David asks, and the sparkle in his eyes is beautiful, so close. “Particularly in that suit. I couldn’t keep my eyes off…”

Neil kisses him to shut him up, standing there in their entryway, intertwined and rumpling their awards-night finery.

David laughs against his mouth, sunny and open, slides his tongue teasingly against Neil’s.

And warmth and sunshine is wonderful, but it’s all of a sudden not what Neil wants. He runs a hand through David’s carefully coiffed hair, destroying it, grabbing a handful for purchase as he deepens the kiss, plundering David’s mouth.

After a long and pleasing moment, David draws back, with a little gasp at the pull of Neil’s hand in his hair. “A bit eager, are we?” His eyes are still laughing, but his mouth has curved in a way that Neil finds intensely promising.

Neil gives him a look. “Get back here.”

David hums. “All in good time.”

And Neil would protest that, but David’s hands have snaked underneath his jacket, fumbling with his waistcoat buttons, and as hot as David looks in his suit, he’d look hotter naked, so maybe…

He loses his train of thought as David finishes unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt enough to push them aside and lean down to tongue his nipple ring. “Fuck, David.”

“That’s the idea,” David says, and Neil can’t see his face now, but he can hear the laugh in David’s voice. 

There’s a wall somewhere behind him, and Neil lets David manhandle him backwards, pushing him against it. David’s managed to get his shirt pulled out of his pants; he must look a sight, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care, not with David’s hands hot and possessive on his hips and David’s teeth grazing his nipple and David’s weight pinning him against the wall. He lets go of his control with a conscious effort, lets go of the tension that settles in his shoulders every time he leaves the house, magnified by a thousand on awards nights. He lets go, lets his head fall back, lets himself make sounds he’d never voice for anyone other than the man in front of him.

“God, how I love debauching you,” David says, and there’s almost a reverent tone in his voice.

With anyone else, even his past lovers, such a comment would have made Neil feel self-conscious, would have thrown him out of the moment and into his craft, would have left him considering his audience and fighting the urge to slide into work-mode. 

But David is David, and Neil doesn’t feel the urge to act with him. David knows him better than he knows himself; David _is_ himself, at some level. With David, he doesn’t have to think, he only has to be.

“Then do it,” he growls, pushing his hips forward, trying to find friction, any friction. “Debauch me already.”

There are hands on his belt. David is taking mercy on him.

And then David is on his knees, and Neil’s pants are being tugged laughingly down his legs – awards show pants are too tight to fall effortlessly in a puddle – and Neil’s hands are reaching out, reaching for something, anything, falling on David’s shoulders and holding on for dear life.

“Going to fuck you after,” David says, conversationally, breath hot on Neil’s cock.

“Yes,” Neil says, “yes,” and forgets all other words for the promises and laughter in David’s eyes.


End file.
